


Planning Stages

by Ylevihs



Series: How Not to Fall [20]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: Brief Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, Established Relationship, Herald POV, M/M, POV Change, Retribution Spoilers, canon typical angst, light fluff, poor planning skills
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 16:17:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19727236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ylevihs/pseuds/Ylevihs
Summary: ForgivenessorDaniel and Ortega have a talk.





	Planning Stages

Something like panic. 

Not quite. Maybe its dead beat half cousin that never showed up to family reunions anymore. 

He had on pants. He couldn’t remember when that had happened, but there they were. On his legs. Right on his legs where he could see his hands rubbing up and down his thighs in an endless repeated cycle. Grip slide. Grip slide. Old denim against his palms. 

Palms that were going a little numb because before he’d sat down he’d been twisting them. His fingers still felt stiff.

Part of his brain was aware of Daniel still talking. Of hands on his bare shoulders and the human shape hovering in front of his body. The rest of it was curled into a tight ball of nauseating dread, barricaded from behind by the mountains of his past and secured from the front by harbor waters frozen completely solid. Any lights were dimmed. Doors locked and windows curtained. No getting in. Not for the simper whimper golden thoughts from the likes of Daniel, no matter how warm they were. 

No getting out either, so Richard focused on watching his fingers twitch against the fabric and not choking to death on his tongue. 

A vague realization of being shaken. Gently, if the jarring buck and fall of his vision was anything to go by. 

“Just talk to me about it, come on,” 

He didn’t want any of what Daniel was selling. Didn’t want to risk the slightest amount of it in. Richard took in a deep breath. “Talk about what?” and it felt like his mouth was full of cotton right up until the point that it was full of bile. “You can’t actually want to hear what I have to say about it. So, what is there to talk about?” too much arsenic on the words, enough to make himself wince and wish that he hadn’t said it at all. Not only would Daniel not want to hear that his forgiveness wasn’t some magical cure all, he also wouldn’t want to know exactly how much those few words made Richard’s throat constrict. 

He needed a drink. 

“I just wanted--,”

“I know what you wanted,” still too much poison. Too quick. It burned at his gums. Daniel’s hands stayed firm on his shoulders. The wind from his thoughts still buffeted against the walls of the frozen hamlet. “You wanted me to be _happy_ about it. You wanted to say. Say that,” his brain stuttered on it and failed, “And then have me be relieved and happy and have everything be nice and normal and that’s not. That’s,”

That’s not how this works, he didn’t say. But he felt it. Strong and hard like his heartbeat in the back of his throat. No clean slates here. Things didn’t get to be erased with him. They lingered. Left scars and ugly marks and grinding aching pain when the humidity picked up because broken joints could heal a bit but they could never go back to normal. So long as Richard was involved in the equation there was going to be a hideous crunch and crackle lurking in the background, waiting. Even without him, the echoes of it would follow Daniel around for life. No amount of accepted apologies was going to make that go away. 

Even if they had pieced him together so that not even a hint of a fracture remained, Daniel would always know. Richard would always know. And how could anyone forgive something like that?

“I know it doesn’t fix it,” Daniel’s voice was reproachful. Gentle in the way that something incredibly sharp could cut so thinly it couldn’t even be felt. Slipped and sliced right into Richard’s heart. Warmth on his forehead. Daniel’s forehead. Creeping in on the undercurrent. Waves beneath the ice making hairline fractures around the wharf. Insidious little. “But you never let me say it. You won’t even let me think it without snapping at me,”

“I don’t,” Richard’s voice wavered and petered out to mumble, “I don’t mean to snap,”

“I know,” a bit more pressure as Daniel shifted forward. Nudging Richard to look up at him. “But I’ve had more than enough time to think it over. To think about how I feel. I forgive you,” something hideous in Richard’s stomach heaved. He didn’t want to look up, didn’t want to risk the eye contact and letting more of him in, didn’t want. Daniel’s hand on his chin. Fingers on his jaw. Richard resisted for a fraction of a second. “I love you. And that’s what you do for people that you love, right? You forgive them. When they’re really sorry, you forgive them,”

“So you can just forgive me for anything, then?” it was meant to be a jab. Snide. A last ditch effort. To get some distance between them because Richard’s eyes were trailing up along with the angle of his head and if he wasn’t careful their eyes were going to meet and then. He wasn’t quite sure what he would do. 

“I could. If it’s you,” and. That was cheating. That wasn’t fair. That was Daniel’s mouth softly against his lips and his hands in his hair holding him still into it so he could feel the puff of Daniel’s words against his skin. “No matter what you’ve done or what you’re going to do. If you tell me you’re sorry, I’ll forgive you,”

“I wouldn’t,” Couldn’t. Let himself. The creeping ice water in his veins that surged forward and urged at him in the quiet, lonely moments, to end his life. That bubbling, ever present hatred that only ever rolled and folded back in on itself. Slipped back inside and back down his throat like mercury medicine. They hadn’t hated him when he showed them what he was. Hadn’t hated him for what he’d done. And if those things weren’t worthy of hatred, what was? Where exactly was the endless trickle coming from and what was he supposed to do to stop it?

Dr. Finch wanted to do something about it. Hadn’t quite talked about it yet. She skirted the issue in large part because of how strongly Richard blasted out that he didn’t want to talk about it. He knew. Thought he knew. There had been reasons for him to feel that way—justifications. At least he’d thought he’d had good reasons. With more and more of the tethers snapping, he wasn’t sure exactly how he could keep from going out to sea. If he couldn’t anchor himself down with how much he hated himself, with how much he deserved to die, where could his mind end up?

“There’s a lot of things I know you wouldn’t do, Richie,” another kiss, and with it came a great deal more heat than Richard was prepared for. Hot water over cold hands, stinging and bringing twitching, painful life with it. A few candles sparked to life—dim light in the houses. Daniel’s certainty verged on the other side of scalding and was doing it’s absolute damndest to melt through the thick ocean ice. 

Wingbeats along with Daniel’s tongue sliding in. Warm air currents from the south, filling his lungs and making his eyes crimp shut. Hands that were on his jaw and bare shoulder were now on the back of his neck and bicep; a thumb traced the jagged edge of a scar. Body heat. 

Little gusts.

Daniel believed that he was sorry. Daniel _did_ want his forgiveness to solve everything; was a little upset that it hadn’t but was trying to curb that. He really did forgive him. Really did love. They settled on the weather worn and frosted rooftops; tiny, innocent and colorful against the frozen backdrop. 

Richard let his guard drop a few measured inches. Let a particularly kind winter day in, reflecting sunlight off the ice. Just warm enough to threaten icicles to drop and dangerous waters to push up jagged shards. 

“Stay with me?” Richard wasn’t sure which part of him asked. “Tonight, I mean,” It was almost all of Daniel that pushed back. Still disappointed in. Aw, beans, why did he have to be like that? Disappointed that he’d ended up upsetting Richard instead of comforting him. Still not entirely sure if he did something wrong. 

“Yeah. _Yes_ , of course,” he pulled Richard forward more securely in his arms. “Holy shit, of course,” 

-

“Morning! Er…looking a little rough there, Herald,” Ortega was already in the breakroom by the time Herald drifted his way towards the coffee machine. He had a mug of coffee in one hand and his brick of a cell phone in the other, clearly having finished up a phone call. 

“It was a long night,” Daniel admitted, trying not to seem like he was glancing around. If it was just Ortega, then maybe they could talk. But the breakroom was more than a little open and anyone could walk right in. Daniel had walked Richard up there more than once. There didn’t seem to be anyone else around though. Chen was usually working out in the mornings and Angie was off being forced by corporate to sit and listen to sponsorship pitches. 

“Everything okay?” it was too innocent sounding, oblivious on purpose. Daniel tried to ignore it, that tone just meant that Ortega was thinking something. Uh. Well. Thinking something about, and was biding his time until he could tease him properly about it. The memory of what they’d been up to before he’d accepted Richard’s apology coughed politely and knocked very gently on the front door of his mental cinema. 

“I,” Daniel rolled his shoulders slightly, still feeling like Chen might stroll up behind him at any second. He couldn’t stop himself from actually looking around this time. Nope. Still nothing. Nobody coming up to eavesdrop in on their conversation. He dropped his voice to a half whisper anyway. “Last night I told Richie that I forgave him,”

Ortega took in that piece of information silently. Lifted his eyebrows. Took a sip of coffee. Seemed to roll some words around in his mouth. Slid his phone into his pocket. And then, completely casually. 

“I take it that didn’t go well,” he smacked his lips a little and brought his coffee mug back up. His next words echoed in the ceramic. “Did he do anything?” a stage whisper at best. 

“No, he didn’t,” Daniel let himself sigh. He’d been afraid that he would, though, and when Richard had asked him to stay it had been a huge relief. And it had been a huge boulder of fear at the top of his spine. More and more often they spent their nights together. To the point where asking seemed superfluous. Unless Richard had wanted him there to keep an eye on him. To make sure he didn’t. Do anything. “It didn’t go terrible though,” he admitted after a second. He’d certainly wanted it to go better. 

Daniel hadn’t given the idea that it would hurt Richard much thought. After all, it was a _good_ thing. Richard had been agonizing and torturing himself for months over it, why wouldn’t he want to be told that he didn’t have to worry anymore? It didn’t make much sense, but to be fair, there were a lot of things about Richard that didn’t make sense. Weren’t things supposed to get simpler the longer a relationship went on? 

“Good,” a brief pause in which it seemed like maybe Ortega didn’t believe him. It passed as Ortega drained his mug and went to toss it in the sink. “While we’re on the topic, there is something I wanted to talk with you about, if you’ve got a second?” and before Daniel could say yes or no, there was a firm hand on his shoulder, turning him in the air. “Maybe somewhere a little less out in the open,”

-

“Sit down,” not an order but Daniel didn’t really think he had much of choice. Ortega sat across from him, a thin line of concentration forming between his eyebrows. 

Daniel had seen the inside of Ortega’s private office before, but only briefly and only when Ortega had been trying to convince him to get more involved with his Hollow Ground investigation. It still struck him how outdated everything seemed; it was a little like walking onto the set of an old Mob movie. Setting, Interior. Detective’s office, 9 am. Ortega himself seemed anything but like the grizzled angry detective, even as he sat back in his well-worn chair with piles of scribbled and half crumpled notebook pages. The spider web map of photos and quotes and question marks on the corkboard had grown even more elaborate since the last time Daniel had seen it. 

“So. Richard told you his plan for, as he put it, ‘assaulting the farm’?” Ortega threaded his fingers together and leaned his weight forward, elbows on his desk. It was remarkably intimidating. 

“Um. Yeah? Most of it anyway,” Daniel winced his way around that question. Richard had told him. Most of it, with some details missing, he knew. It wasn’t because he wasn’t telling him the whole truth, at least Danny hoped, and more that Richard’s ideas and plans seemed to come to him without warning. Without preamble. And Richard often relayed them the same way.

Quiet discussions about the sorts of upgrades his suit might need before he could move forward followed by: “Unless they’ve changed the frequency their dampeners operate at, it shouldn’t be hard to knock them down,” and he’d made a clicking sound with his mouth that set Daniel on edge even to think about. “Like dominoes. Overload them in a neat little series. One they can see coming but won’t be able to stop,” An uneasy thought, that one. That Richard might want them to know that something was coming for them. 

“And what he’s told you all seems to line up? Nice and neat?” he was speaking into his hands, pressing his mouth against them. There was a building line of tension in his shoulders and upper back. 

“Um,” Daniel repeated, still not wanting to go to in depth. He knew Richard had said he’d told Ortega ‘most of the plan’ as well. But how much was most of it? And. Surely it wasn’t like he couldn’t talk with Ortega about it. Richard had told him everything else by now. Daniel took the chance. If Ortega was missing any details, he could fill him in. That wouldn’t. He grimaced. “I guess? He’s talked about how he plans to get them to evacuate and what he needs to do to get into the main build--,”Ortega rose to his feet suddenly, chair swiveling back and pointing a finger almost in Daniel’s face. 

“Yeah, okay, there. He talks about how he gets in, right?” Ortega was breathing hard, as if he’d physically been holding that question back.

“Right?” Daniel blinked rapidly. What the hell was?

“Has he told you how _he plans to get out?_ ” 

The question felt like it echoed, ricocheting around Daniel’s head. 

Had he? He must have. Obviously he must have. Judging by the look in Ortega’s eyes, he certainly hadn’t told him. “But he told you that once he knows that everyone’s out, he blows the place? Told me exactly where he plans on placing them to get the maximum structural damage, which places his dumb ass, right here,” Ortega shoved a handful of papers off the side of his desk, not seeming to care where they landed. “Here,” a few more shoves and a hastily scribbled page with a hand drawn map appeared. Ortega jammed his finger down on a building in the middle. “It puts him right at the center of an rapidly closing circle of fucking death when he says he plans on triggering it,”

The building Ortega’s finger on was labeled “Administration”. The rest of the buildings spread out from it, like strands in a spider’s web.

Daniel took a moment to look at the map, because looking at the map meant he didn’t have to think about what Ortega was saying. Didn’t have to think that holy shit was he not planning on making it out? Was this a suicide mission? His stomach rolled in a way he hadn’t felt in nearly a decade. “He wants to blow the place in an exact order, he--,” he held up a hand, a silent request for Ortega to pump the brakes. 

“Hold on,” Daniel’s conscious mind finally managed to lift one leg over the ‘Richard doesn’t have an escape plan’ hurdle and place a foot on the ground. “He…didn’t tell me this is what the complex looks like,” The number of buildings on the doodle seemed right, but the placement was all wrong, even if he was looking at them upside down.   
Ortega faltered visibly, finger almost smudging the pencil lines as he dragged his hand away. “What?”

“This one,” Daniel’s skin crawled reading the words ‘processing plant’ in Ortega’s scribbled handwriting and pointed it out. Long, but narrow. Doors on the South and East side. A parking lot on the East. “He told me it was the northernmost one, and that he wanted to save it for last,”

“No. No, it’s on the West side and he wants it gone first, then the R&D buildings and. Then. The,”

The pause that settled in between the two Rangers was not only long, it was oppressive. It had the weight of mausoleum doors slamming home. They stared at each other. Daniel shook his head. That was nothing like what he had been told. He wanted to take out administration first and cut off any chance they had of internal communications. Surely, Daniel told himself, the discrepancy was just a mistake. Maybe Richard had changed part of the plan and hadn’t told him. Mistakes happened. Richard made them all the time. Everyone made them all the time. 

God, he hoped Ortega was making one now. Richard hadn’t ever told him how he planned to get out, had he? Had gone into elaborate detail on how to get people out. How to make sure they were herded and driven to certain places around the complex. How to get the emergency staff out. The way he wanted to demolish the buildings. Their order. He’d never said a single word about what happened afterwards. What happened after he set off the first detonations. 

“Pinche pendejo,” Ortega swore loudly at first and then quieter, “That dirty son of a. Did he tell you about Senator Carmichael?” he was pinching the bridge of his nose and wincing tightly. His other hand was firm on his lower back, as though it were sore. 

“Who?” Daniel stumbled.

“Valerie Carmichael, she’s a senator from Virginia,” Ortega said the words slowly, as if he were explaining a very complex topic to a very simple mind. “He didn’t tell you anything about her?”

“No?” Daniel felt himself starting to rise up out of the chair and did nothing to stop himself. 

“Funny.” Neither of them were laughing. Ortega’s tone certainly didn’t sound amused. “He told me she was the lynch-pin of one of his plans _before_ attacking the farm and he asked me to do as much digging into her as I possibly could,”

“What did you find?” a tiny spike of dread was poking into Daniel’s throat. That wasn’t the name of the woman Richard had told him about. But then again, Richard hadn’t said the other woman was a Senator either. 

“I found out she takes kickbacks from lobbyists and is having an affair, which, huh, doesn’t sound all that important does it?” the words were dripping with bitter sarcasm. “Nothing that he might need. Nothing I _thought_ he might need, but then again I didn’t think he was still fucking lying to me!” Ortega sat back down in his chair, glaring at the paper on his desk as if he could interrogate the truth from it. 

“Did he tell you he wants to try and do this in the Spring?”

“Winter,”

Daniel’s mind was spinning. None of this was. “East of the Sie--,”

“ _West_ ,” Ortega corrected, fire in his eyes. A tiny arch of electrical discharge shot from his finger tips to a couple of paperclips on the desk. “I’m gonna kick his ass,”


End file.
